


The Family Disappointment

by sElkieNight60



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth (Brief), Ankles: Broken, Cigarettes: Stolen, Crack, Crackish by Nature, Damian Wayne (Brief), Dick Grayson (Brief) - Freeform, Duke Thomas (Brief), Family Disappointment: The DanceDance Revolution Battle, Gen, Rebellious Phase, Se.N, Stephanie Brown (Brief) - Freeform, Teen Rebel, Tim Drake Sticking it To The Man, Titans (Brief), What even happens in this fic I wrote it in a 30 minute fever state, idk - Freeform, no editing we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60
Summary: “I bet I can get Bruce to question his parenting skills faster and with less murder involved than Jason.” -- Tim Drake, February 2021.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & batfamily
Comments: 65
Kudos: 596





	The Family Disappointment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batbirdies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batbirdies/gifts).



> Ankles: Broken.  
> Cigarettes: Stolen.  
> Family Disappointment: The DanceDance Revolution Battle* 
> 
> (*No DDR Machines feature or were harmed in the making of this fic.)

It had started out as a joke. “Who could be the Family Disappointment.” Who could be the worst child. Who could _really_ make Bruce question his parenting abilities.

Jason thought he had it in the bag—you know, along with ten severed heads. “No one can top that,” he said as Duke eyed him warily and subtly inched away. 

Tim begged to differ.

“You’ve never even killed anyone,” Damian contended.

Well, no, he supposed that was true. “But being the family disappointment relies on more than just murder,” he opined. “I bet I can get Bruce to question his parenting skills faster and with less murder involved than Jason.”

The older crossed his arms, a competitive frown making its way onto his brow.

“You’re on Timbo,” he challenged with a grin. “You won’t beat my score, but it’ll be fun to see you try. At the very least it’ll be a good laugh to watch Bruce flounder.”

And so the stage was set. 

That very day, Tim went out and got his eyebrow pierced. 

Initially his friends were skeptical, but when he told them it was for a good cause they began to slowly— _painstakingly slowly_ —come around to the idea.

Conner in particular was all for sticking it to the man i.e. parent. His amused grin was almost as malicious as Jason’s when he found out what Tim was planning to do. 

“A little competition never hurt anyone,” he shrugged as Cassie side-eyed him nervously.

“Are are you sure this is a good idea?” Bart asked, wringing his hands.

“Of course it isn’t,” chuckled Connor. “And if Batman ever finds out we know, we’re all dead. Titans don’t get the same immunity as his kids.”

This only served to make Bart more nervous, but it heartened Tim greatly to know his best friend would ‘ride or die’ with him on any parent-related-plan.   
  


Conner grinned at him and in return, Tim gave a quick thumbs up.

* * *

Throughout dinner Bruce glanced over, Tim’s occasional return stare doing wonders.

Bruce looked highly uncomfortable, but to his credit he never brought it up.

Tim wiggled his pierced eyebrow at Jason for maximum effect.

It was only after dinner that Bruce stopped him in the hall, a gentle hand on his shoulder, a voice used to calm frightened kids on the street.

“Tim,” he said. “You know you can come to me about anything right? You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know Bruce,” he chirped merrily, “but thanks.”

He tried his hardest not to skip down the hall. 

* * *

Tim owned plenty of ripped jeans. He owned plenty of black jeans. He owned plenty of punk aesthetic shirts. He’d bought them all when he’d first begun living with Bruce, finally out from under his mother‘s thumb—who’d only allowed him to wear respectable clothing.

Bruce hadn’t minded though. Actually the two of them had bonded over certain T-shirts and the bands on them. Bruce had even introduced him to The Who and The Clash, much to Alfred’s chagrin.

These days he didn’t wear them much, he felt he’d outgrown that phase, but now? It was time they made a comeback. 

Standing in front of the mirror, Tim thought he looked really good. The eyebrow piercing went really well with his short-sleeved punk shirts actually. 

Dick knocked on his door. Tim turned only for the older boy to give him a brief, exasperated smile. 

“As much as it pains me that you are actually doing this,” he admitted. “I vastly prefer it over the severed heads. Keep up the good work, Timmy.”

Dick disappeared again, but Tim was very bolstered by his words. So much so in fact that that very day he took his skateboard into town and found the cheapest tattoo parlor. He made sure to purchase several of the store’s most expensive temporary tattoos. If only so anyone looking at his credit card purchases—Bruce—would see that he had visited a tattoo parlor and purchased something _very_ expensive. 

“This seems like an odd choice,” said the woman at the counter, holding up the temporary back tattoo of a lion devouring a tiger. “At least for kid like yourself. Are you even allowed to be in here?”

“Sure!” Tim grinned. “And it’s for a good cause.”

The woman did not look convinced, but she shrugged, scanned the tattoos, and wished him well on his day. 

Tim had to coerce Stephanie into helping him apply the largest of the many tattoos. Although, Bruce would not see it until Tim was dressing in his Red Robin gear. So for now the temporary sleeve tattoo of a serpent crawling its way up his arm would have to do. 

* * *

Bruce's attempts at whatever it was he was attempting to do were not subtle.

“New tattoo there bud?” His voice ended up several octaves higher than where it started. 

“Yeah,” said Tim, injecting glee into his own. “Isn’t it great!” He flashed the tattoo on his arm so Bruce could get a good look at it. 

The older man, if Tim was not mistaken, paled just a little. 

“Have you shown Alfred yet?”

Ouch. Low blow, Bruce.

Unfortunately for him, Tim was under no illusion that Alfred did not know what was going on. The man was smart like that. And if he hadn’t intervened yet, Tim would take that as license.

“Oh, he knew what I was going to get,” he lied. “Actually, he talked me out of getting my second sleeve done until this one is completed.”

“O-oh,” stumbled Bruce, eyes wide with alarm but desperately trying not to show it. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded, extracting himself from the conversation with: “I’ve got some paper work to look over, but I’ll see you for patrol.” Leaving Bruce to dwell in concern.

* * *

“I'm worried, Alfred,” he overheard Bruce say, sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of warm tea―Alfred's tried and true remedy for most things―while the butler dried the dishes. “Tim's not been himself of late. Did something happen?”

Alfred patted his hand. “I wouldn't be too concerned my boy, it's likely just a phase. Kids go through those you know.”

Tim slunk away like the Cheshire Cat.

* * *

 _If Jason didn't want his younger siblings getting into his cigarettes then he shouldn't have left them out where impressionable children could find them_ \--was what Tim's internal monologue of Bruce said.

Tim didn't actually _take_ any. Just the packet. Which he swapped the contents for with a pack of candies that looked just like cigarettes.

Bruce caught him on the balcony, just as planned.

“TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE,” he shouted, loud enough that Tim could hear him through the bi-fold French double doors. “ARE YOU _SMOKING?”_

Quickly, he flung the pack over the railing, jumping down in glee right after it, leaving Bruce to yell at him from above. He rolled to soften his landing, but in that moment made a fatal mistake.

Tim heard, rather than felt, the initial snap.

Which was then immediately followed by an explosion of pain. Lips parted to let loose a silent cry, followed by a strangled noise.

Oh fuck, had he just broken his ankle? Oh shit. Jason was never going to let him live this down. None of them were. Dick would be straight up _disappointed_.

Several loud curses met his ears from high above, but Tim could do no more than lie there, curled up on his side for several minutes until large and calloused hands were fluttering over his body.

Bruce pulled him into a sitting position very carefully. Tim didn't know how he'd made it down so quickly, but clearly not the same way he had come.

“ _Shh,”_ he hushed gently, Tim squawking as his ankle jostled. “You're okay, I've got you.”

“What happened?” Jason's voice.

Oh dear. Not yet. The mocking would be _ruthless._

“I caught him _smoking on the balcony_ and I think I frightened him so badly he fell…” the disappointment was evident in his voice.

Jason went silent. Tim stayed silent―this rendition of the truth was less likely to receive a mocking at the very least.

Bruce dragged a hand over his face before going back to examining Tim's ankle, carefully manipulating his leg until he could get off the shoe and sock over top of it.

“I am so disappointed in the pair of you,” he sighed after a moment, both of them stilling. “You―” he said, pointedly looking at Jason, “for leaving your cigarettes out where your younger siblings could get to them, and you,” he said, turning his attention to Tim, “for taking them!”

Tim and Jason exchanged glances.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jason extended a hand.

“I concede,” he said, shaking Tim's own. “You broke your ankle over this so. You win.”

Bruce's expression read taken aback.

“Wait,” he said, motioning with his hands for them to hold up. “What is going on here?”

“Jason and I made a bet,” Tim croaked, grinning up at Bruce easily, even through the pain. “Who was better at being the family disappointment. I said I could do it faster and with less murder.”

Bruce simply blinked at him, then glanced over at Jason and did the same. The cogs in his head visibly turned.

"The tattoos are fake, B."

There was silence.

“The cigarettes weren’t real either. Just candies.”

More silence.

“You…” he began, very, very slowly. “… did this all over a stupid _bet?”_

“AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaand, I'm out,” announced Jason loudly, knees cracking as he stood. “Good luck with this one, Timmy, given you can't walk. I don't envy your future suffering. RIP. Later.”

“OH NO YOU'RE NOT. JASON PETER YOU WILL COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT.”

Tim's grin broadened.

“JASON PETER TODD-WAYNE DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM ME―”

~END~


End file.
